


Name Quest

by StevenSchaufele



Category: Elfquest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StevenSchaufele/pseuds/StevenSchaufele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assailed with growing frustration at being a ‘nameless cub’, teenaged Nightfall goes off to find her fundamental identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name Quest

_‡Am i right in thinking it's nearly trout season?‡_

Rillfisher enthusiastically answered Rain's question. _‡Yes! They'll be piking up the river in just a few days!‡_

_‡Ha! Looking forward to it!‡_ crowed One-Eye, who had a weakness for fish.

_‡Speaking of piking,‡ _wondered Woodlock, _‡where **is** Pike?‡___

Humans are naturally brain-mute; in order to communicate with each other, their brains have to channel their thoughts through one or another of the motor-muscular systems under their control. But Elves are able to ‘send’ telepathically to each other, merely bringing a thought to the surface of their minds and sending it forth directly, without the need for explicit speech or writing or any other muscular gestures, and the Wolfriders, in particular, are quite accustomed to doing so. Strongbow, in fact, almost never talked at all, and generally the custom contributed to keeping themselves and their activities secret from their Human enemies and the treacherous Trolls. But even in a peaceful, relaxed circumstance like the afternoon they were now enjoying they routinely engaged in it, especially out of consideration for Rillfisher, who as a result of a severe sinus infection a few Turns ago was deaf.

Answering her lifemate's question, Rainsong dismissed her brother by asserting, _‡Pike is **asleep**.‡_

From the next copse, Bearclaw chuckled. _‡Pike is **always** asleep!‡_

_‡No he's not!‡_ remonstrated Joyleaf, cuffing her lifemate. _‡He was **very much awake** during the hunt last night!‡_

Her brother Treestump chuckled. _‡No, he's not always asleep; he's just addicted to dreamberries!‡_

From another copse came the ‘voice’ of Longbranch, who with a satisfied yawn was himself enjoying the mildly hallucinogenic fruit from his lifemate's latest pot. _‡Can you think of anything better to be addicted to?‡_

_‡How about food?‡_ , suggested Bearclaw.

_‡Bearclaw!‡_ Longbranch sputtered, _‡I'm expecting you to back me up on this!‡_

From the height of his Chiefly dignity, Bearclaw smugly remarked, _‡Ah, but expectations are so often disappointed …‡_

Several of the Wolfriders smirked indulgently at this remark, including Redmark, who, a bit distant from the others, was leaning pensively against an old beech tree close to the river. He was called ‘Redmark’ because he was an excellent tracker, able to follow the spoor of a deer even when it was several days old. The word ‘red’ in that name _might_ be assumed to allude to the blood of his prey; but everyone knew that the main reason he was known as ‘ _Red_ mark’ had to do with the flaming red of the hair that normally, as now, was tightly disciplined into two braids that descended on either side of his face.

_‡Look at our daughter, Treestump!‡_ Rillfisher called out. _‡If you're trying to outswim Scouter, Dewshine, you'd have better luck out in the middle of the river!‡_

From where the children were playing in the river, Dewshine answered, _‡But Mother, i'm not trying to get **away**!‡_

_‡She's more interested in **swimming circles** around him‡_ , laughed One-Eye. He was contentedly combing out his lifemate Clearbrook's extremely long hair as she placidly lounged in an eddy-pool, a favourite activity for both of them.

_‡But what is Nightfall doing?‡_ cried Brownberry with just a hint of concern.

_‡Trying to drown Cutter, of course‡_ , Longbranch idly answered. _‡Isn't it obvious?‡_

And indeed, at that very moment Nightfall succeeded in dunking the Chief's son; she, Scouter, and Dewshine laughed at Cutter's spluttering as he struggled back to the surface, his pale pampas-grass hair (inherited from his mother, so different from Bearclaw's dark-brown hair) _slightly_ darker now that it was thoroughly soaked. The adults indulgently joined in the laughter.

_‡Cutter and Nightfall are so close‡_ , archly commented Woodlock. _‡Do you suppose …?‡_

_‡Oh, Cutter & Nightfall have always been the best of friends‡_, Clearbrook answered languidly. _‡But do you really think they'll ever be anything more than that?‡_

This last bit of dialogue had been ‘lock-sent’, carefully framed in such a way that only the adults could ‘hear’ it. Blithely unaware that the potential state of her affections was being discussed, Nightfall climbed out of the river, shook herself off, put on her clothes and the scarf she normally wore about her head, and plopped down next to Redmark, leaning against his knee, and resumed chipping away at a stone knife she was making for herself.

She was called ‘Nightfall’ at first just because that's when she was born — just as the Sun was setting on that day … was it all of 15 Turns ago?? Yes, it must have been …. She was just a little bit older than Cutter; she was born in spring, he in summer. But as time went on … as she grew older … it became increasingly obvious that, underneath her surface hoydenism, there were layers and layers of mystery that were well hinted at by her ‘usename’.

As he struggled with these thoughts, Redmark allowed his gaze to linger on the swell of her thigh … and to notice the knife sheathed there.

‘You already have a knife’, he quietly observed.

‘Yes,’ she responded eagerly, ‘a _bright-metal_ knife!! Made by _Trolls _!! This one …’ she gazed speculatively at the work in her hands ‘… will be different. I'm making it myself.’__

Redmark smiled. ‘So you will have two knives, one of stone that you have made yourself, one of bright-metal made by the Trolls.’

‘Yes’, Nightfall agreed lovingly. Touching the knife sheathed on her thigh, she expatiated, ‘Bearclaw gave me this … two Turns ago.’ She trembled nervously at the thought. ‘It was … _such an honour_ … having him _teach _me — a mere cub — having him _gift_ me with this knife — bright-metal knives are so precious … and yet … he gave it to me — a cub who doesn't even know her _name_!!’__

‘He didn't just give you the knife’, Redmark observed. ‘He had already taught you so much about how to use knives; that gift was an acknowledgment of how much you had learned, how well you had profitted from his training.’

‘Yes …. It was so amazing … having the _Chief_ teaching … _me!!_ ’

‘Well, it wasn't just condescension on his part’, Redmark pointed out with a chuckle; ‘actually, i don't think our Chief is much for “condescending”. You're not just anybody, you know; you're _really good_ with knives — you've _always_ been good with knives; it's been remarked upon — for _Turns_.’

‘Really??’ Nightfall looked up at him, grateful for this encomium.

‘Really’, Redmark reassured her. ‘ _That's_ why Bearclaw was so willing to offer you the teaching he gave you!’

Nightfall sighed. ‘It wasn't … always easy. Things would be going along … swimmingly … for several days, then suddenly … he'd scold me. Sometimes …’ she teared up at the memory ‘… he'd almost _slap,/em > me!’_

‘Yes’, Redmark, nodding, commiserated. ‘He can … at times … be _very_ rough — and harsh.’

Nightfall's brow twitched. ‘ _You_ , Redmark, say that??’, she murmured. ‘ _You_ , the soul of loyalty, would criticize our Chief??’

‘He's our Chief, yes, i know that’, Redmark spluttered. ‘And he's been a very good chief. But nevertheless, he's _definitely_ got a temper!’ After some hesitation, Redmark allowed his hand to rest on Nightfall's shoulder.

‘Yes. He does.’ She sighed. ‘There were times … when i feared i would _never_ learn …. There were times i was … reduced to tears! And then … he gave me _this_ — a precious, bright-metal knife — and declared that i'd learned all that he could teach me!’ The attendant emotions threatened to overwhelm her; giving her head an irritated, wondering shake, she returned to the more neutral intimacy of ‘sending’, in which emotional control was easier and more effective. _‡Enough about knives! Talk to me about plants, Redmark!‡_

Sighing in his turn, Redmark caressed the tree at whose foot they were sitting. _‡This is an old tree; nearly 800 Turns — it's been standing here throughout Bearclaw's reign! It has … **several hands of hands** of stories to tell!‡_

_‡Can **you** tell those stories for it, Redmark?_ she wondered. Longbranch was the Tribe's ‘Howl-Keeper’, with the responsibility of storing and relating all the Tribe's stories; and, on occasion, a storyteller's habits rather naturally crossed the mind of Longbranch's daughter.

Redmark shook his head. _‡No. Not yet. I … keep trying. I can **feel** some of them; but i can't yet get at the stories themselves — not enough to be able to put them into words — or even into feelings — that i could share with others.‡_ He sighed again. _‡But … it's dying. Its blood is sluggish; there's too much junk flowing in it.‡_

She had said, ‘Enough about knives’ a few minutes earlier, but she had nevertheless continued quietly chipping away at the one in her hands. Now she laid it and the piece of flint she had been using against it down on the sward, and (if possible) snuggling a little closer she looked wonderingly up at him and said, _‡Redmark, when you talk about the trees, you sound like Rain. Is a Tree-Shaper like a Healer?‡_

_‡Cub, i —‡_

Nightfall promptly cuffed him. _‡I'm not a cub, Redmark!‡_

_Nooooooo … you're not_ , Redmark thought privately. A rueful smile. _You don't even know your own name yet. And yet …. No, you're not … exactly … a cub any longer. … What am i thinking??_ His mind veered quickly away from the enticing curves he had, without meaning to, been considering.

As the topic of their conversation shifted from knives to trees, Redmark had to some extent relaxed his usual control; Nightfall had been innocently not bothering to ‘lock-send’ in her conversation with him; the other Wolfriders, if they wished, could ‘listen in’ on stray bits of it. And One-Eye now suddenly stepped in.

_‡A Tree- **Shaper** , yeah that's something useful; we can always use one of those. But what good's a Tree- **Sensor**?! Who needs to know about **plants**? If they're good to eat you eat 'em; if they're not you don't; if they're poison you avoid 'em. Not much else worth knowin' about plants. What good is knowin' about 'em if you can't get 'em to do what you want? Now, Fireflower, your granddam, Redmark, before that bear took her, she was maybe not quite as good as **her** granddam, Goodtree, but she could —‡_

Hurt once again at the recrudescence of his own long-suffered frustration, Redmark turned his head away. But, meanwhile, Nightfall sprang to her feet and advanced on the elder.

_‡Redmark knows a whole lot more about the forest than **you** , Uncle! It isn't **everybody** just goes **bumbling** through the forest!‡_

_‡Whaddaya mean, ‘bumbling through the forest’, cub?!‡_ , exclaimed One-Eye in surprise.

_‡You **do**!‡_ With that defiant declaration, Nightfall pounced on One-Eye. As it happened, at that moment One-Eye's footing was uneven, and she had no difficulty at all knocking the larger, older man down.

The Wolfriders have acquired much of their culture from the wolves they are partnered with. And among wolves, fights, when they occur at all, tend to be brief and ritualized. Angry as she was, Nightfall had no intention of actually injuring her father's brother, only of forcing him to listen to her. With her sitting determinedly atop him, One-Eye quickly realized that he had little choice but to yield to her demands — which, while physically silent, were nevertheless fairly shouted — that he treat Redmark with more respect.

Strongbow was the first to comment. _‡A cub who doesn't even know her name yet! But she's certainly nicked One-Eye but good, hasn't she?‡_

_‡Yes, she has!‡_ Rillfisher chuckled. _‡Longbranch! See what your own daughter has done! That'll surely be one for a Howl!‡_

_‡I'm watching! I'm watching! I'm listening!‡_ Longbranch grinned.

_‡ **Another** layer of Nightfall's character‡_ , enthused Woodlock, as he and Rainsong joined in Longbranch's appreciation. _‡Where will it end??‡_

_‡She's certainly been well-named‡_ , remarked Rainsong, thinking of the gradual, piecemeal revelation of the girl's capabilities.

Clearbrook, meanwhile, laughed indulgently at the drubbing her lifemate was taking. _‡You have to admit, One-Eye, she's got you bushwacked!‡_

_‡Oh, i admit it, i admit it!‡_ One-Eye acknowledged sheepishly. _‡All right, cub, all right! I'll stop teasing Redmark if you let me back on my feet!‡_

Bearclaw smiled judiciously. _‡An excellent fighting spirit! One whose molding i found richly rewarding!‡_

Joyleaf cuffed her lifemate again. _‡If you found it so rewarding, why were you so harsh about it?‡_

_‡That ‘harshness’ was a necessary part of the molding‡_ , Bearclaw pontificated.

_Just as well Bearclaw's Chief_ , Rain thought privately. _He's right; sometimes — **sometimes** — it's better for a teacher to be **occasionally** harsh. And most of us don't have the stomach for it._

_Bearclaw, on the other hand, it must be granted, has a bit of a tendency to overdo it._

While most of the rest of the tribe was enthusing in admiration of Nightfall's spunk and accomplishments, quiet, reserved Redmark was struggling to comprehend her motivation. _For **my** sake … she beat down a tribal elder … to protect **me**!_

Father Tree was huge, and had any number of boles in it, each bole the home of a small family of Wolfriders. In one of these boles, Brownberry was sitting cross-legged in a corner where the floor — a tiny part of the tree — had been molded so that it rose up a little bit and came out in a little flat overhang before merging back into the wall.

Reaching under a damp cloth, Brownberry took a large handful of clay. Rolled between her palms, the clay began to stretch out into a long string. Slowly, with infinite care, Brownberry smoothed out the lumps, making sure that the resulting string was absolutely even, a constant width throughout its length. After about 20 minutes, she decided she was satisfied with what she had so far accomplished.

She then began — gently, carefully — laying the string of clay down on the overhang before her in a long spiral. Over the next couple of hours, the spiral slowly first wandered out from the center, then, having attained the intended radius, began to rise up & out in an elegant flange. But Brownberry was not yet finished; there were still several feet of clay-string left. With a skill built up over centuries of practice, she suddenly shifted the spiral _into_ the jar she was making, so that it swooped up into a relatively narrow neck before finally expanding outwards and down into an impressive lip.

By the time she'd accomplished this, a little over three hours had gone by. And all that time, Nightfall had been quietly sitting nearby, intently watching what her mother was doing. Now, as Brownberry proceeded to the somewhat less intensive work of smoothing the outside of the jar, Nightfall spoke up. ‘You've been working at that for so long — and so steadily, Mother! That kind of work requires a _lot_ of patience!’

‘Anything worth doing requires some patience, cub’, answered Brownberry. ‘Even your skill with knives, if you'll remember ….’

Nightfall thought back on the struggles she'd had in mastering the many uses of knives, the frustrations she had frequently suffered as, on several occasions, it had seemed as though she would never be able to use them properly — or at all. ‘Yeah, it did; and Bearclaw made it harder!’ she agreed, remembering the many times her Chief had tongue-lashed her on the subject.

From amongst the luxurious pile of furry skins on the far side of the bole, Longbranch spoke up. ‘Bearclaw's not the easiest teacher, that's for sure.’

Whipping around, Nightfall exclaimed, ‘Father! You're awake!’

‘I have been, for a little while now’, he chuckled, then asked, ‘How you coming, Brownberry?’

Brownberry carefully inspected her work. ‘It's coming along’, she answered non-commitally; on the basis of long acquaintance, Longbranch could deduce from the tone of her voice that, in fact, the work was nearly done. Turning back to his daughter, Longbranch remarked, ‘You'll remember, Nightfall, back when you were learning how to wield knives —’

‘Back when you were _struggling_ to learn how to wield knives!’ interjected Brownberry.

Longbranch went on. ‘— You _also_ learned a fair amount from Redmark, about patience!’

‘Yeah’, agreed Nightfall dreamily, her voice drifting off. When she had been at her most frustrated, when it had seemed that nothing was going right, when she had seemed to herself to be a total failure, Redmark — Redmark who always believed in her, Redmark, with his steadfast confidence that someday she would succeed, no matter how often, how long, how many times she seemed to fail — Redmark had always been there to comfort her, to encourage her. Even when nothing else seemed to be going her way, he had kept her going. Looking back now, two or three Turns later, the memory of his patient, compassionate support fanned a smouldering, inexpressible warmth in her breast and in her face. Seeking to be alone with that memory, Nightfall slowly got up and wandered out.

As he rose from the midst of the skins a few minutes later, Longbranch remarked, ‘I notice she didn't complain when you called her “cub”, Brownberry.’

‘Parent's privilege’ Brownberry answered as, having finished smoothing over the outside of the jar, she cut it from her worktable. ‘After all, my parents still called me “cub” long after i'd grown up.’

‘She rebuked Redmark yesterday when he called her that, though’ observed Longbranch.

‘Ah, well, that's different isn't it?’ Brownberry chuckled as she placed her new jar in the window, ready to dry & harden in the afternoon sunlight; this was one of the main reasons she and Longbranch had opted for a bole with a western exposure. ‘It's not like Redmark has a parent's rights. If you ask me, where Redmark's concerned Nightfall's got other things in mind.’

In response to her lifemate's stare of wondering confusion, Brownberry's chuckle opened out into a full-throated laugh. ‘Trust a mother to know!’, she quipped mysteriously.

Three heads bent low over a ring of rope being carefully laid out. In the middle, Redmark's braids almost touched the ground as he spread the ring; on either side, Cutter's pampas-grass locks in which the rich yellow of his mother's hair was diluted to the point of being barely discernable and Skywise' mane, white as the light of the stars he loved so much, whiter even than Clearbrook's, utterly undarkenable, bobbed slightly as, following their teacher's directions, they scattered dirt, twigs, and leaves over the rope.

_‡There!‡_ declared Redmark, rising to his feet and brushing off his hands. _‡Now, we just need to retire behind the rock-outcropping over there, and wait and watch.‡_

_‡How long will we have to wait?‡_ Skywise wondered.

Redmark chuckled softly. _‡Can't say. We have to wait until some animal steps into — and springs — the snare.‡_ Wishing to avoid any delay, he herded his young charges behind the rock where they would be almost completely invisible to any small animal wandering by. The rock was several feet to the west of the snare, and (at least at this time of day) the prevailing wind was easterly; Redmark hoped it would remain so for an adequate while, so that they would be as unsmellable as they were invisible. Pointing up beyond the rock to where the Sun seemed to be just touching one side of a tree-trunk, he went on. _‡We may be lucky, and have to wait only as long as it takes the Sun to pass completely behind that tree and come out of the other side. Or we may have to wait until she is way over in a completely different part of the sky.‡_

Despite his best efforts to keep utter silence, Skywise emitted a deep sigh. _‡So … we may be stuck here all day, watching that spot!‡_

_‡Is that any different from watching the sky?‡_ asked Redmark with a twisted grin. _‡You're quite willing to sit the better part of the night watching the stars. Is watching a snare any different?‡_

_‡Uh … Yes, it is. The sky — the stars — are **fascinating**!‡_ , Skywise continued to protest. _‡A snare is just a bit of string in the grass!‡_

_‡Well … OK, i'll grant that‡_ , Redmark acknowledged. _‡So set your snare, then gaze at the sky — from near the snare. Certainly, if anything walks into your snare, its struggles will necessarily draw your attention!‡_

Skywise looked up. There were very few breaks in the leafy cover overhead. _‡Can't see much of the sky from here‡_ , he complained.

Redmark laughed. _‡So set your snare at the edge of an open field! You certainly don't **have** to set it right here! In fact, you should **never** set a snare twice in a row in the same place; you want it to come as a **surprise** to your prey, so you should always put it somewhere where **previously** there was no snare, no reason for your prey to be cautious.‡_

Skywise thought for a moment, then raised an objection to Redmark's remark. _‡Uhh … if some animal has already walked into a snare — here or anywhere else — it would presumably by now be **dead** — and **eaten**. Why should it be cautious?‡_

_‡Good point‡_ , Redmark approved. _‡The animal that was actually **caught** in that earlier snare would, presumably, have been killed and eaten. But what about any **other** animal that may have **observed** its being caught?‡_

Skywise nodded, satisfied with their teacher's response. But Cutter was also not happy with the prospect of lying in a hide, waiting for however long. _‡Can't we just set the snare, and then go away and come back a while later and see if we've caught anything?‡_

_‡Yes we could … if you're willing, in the meantime, to leave your prey struggling madly, in pain, in **vain** , to escape‡_, Redmark replied sternly. _‡That's not the Way; the Way involves a **quick** death — as quick as possible.‡_

At an immediate, superficial level, Cutter was inclined to argue. But his native good sense forced him to admit (sulkily; after all, he was only 15 Turns old) that there was much wisdom in Redmark's explanation. _‡Yeah. For some prey, a snare is necessary — or, at least, almost necessary. But to leave the prey struggling — fruitlessly — for hours, there's no honour in that.‡_

_‡There's also this to be considered‡_ , added Skywise. _‡An animal struggling to escape a snare may inadvertently strangle itself — isn't that true, Redmark?‡_

_‡Yes‡_ , Redmark admitted. _‡It has been known to happen.‡_

_‡In which case, what are you left with?‡_ , Skywise went on. _‡Such carrion is suitable only for worms or carrion-birds, not for wolves. And then, where are you?‡_

Several yards away, Nightfall, over-‘hearing’ the ‘voices’ of her friends' sendings, wandered into the vicinity. Recognizing what they were doing, she silently settled herself on a large rock, carefully placing herself as much as possible out of sight and smell of the snare they had set (a ravvit or gopher, hopefully, wouldn't have been able to see it, but to the eyes and brain of a Wolfrider it was fairly obvious). She considered getting out the stone knife she was working on, but decided that chipping at it might be sufficiently disturbing to keep any prey-animals away.

She could, of course, join in her friends' conversation. But, at the moment, she didn't feel like it. She was, in fact, feeling rather moody. _What's wrong?_ , she asked herself.

_No. … ‘Wrong’ isn't the right word. There's nothing — precisely — ‘wrong’. It's just … that something's **missing**. Things are not … complete._

_Nothing's **wrong**. But not everything's quite **right** , either._

_There's a Human village at the edge of the forest._

_Nonononono. That's not what's bothering me. In an ideal world, perhaps, Humans wouldn't exist. But, in fact, they've always been there; they probably always will be there; and most of the time they're not killing us, or hunting us, or threatening us._

_There's nothing we can do that can drive the Humans away, that can change the fact that there are Humans near the forest. And what's bothering me is … i think … something we **can** change._

_I wonder …._ she wondered glancing around the rock she was sitting on towards that other large rock several yards away. _Could Redmark … help me … figure out what it is? Give me a suggestion?_

An irritating thought intruded itself. _Does Redmark even know i'm here??_

In the course of her private musings, Nightfall had inadvertently let down the guard on her mind. Now, she was startled to receive a private sending from Redmark. _‡I always know where you are, Nightfall; the grass tells me.‡_

Recovering from her shock, Nightfall exclaimed, _‡Is that why you're such a good tracker, Redmark? The plants tell you where everything is?‡_

_‡That's a big part of it, i must admit.‡_

_Whoa!_ Nightfall struggled to once again tighten up control on her mind. _That means that none of us — that **i** — can't sneak up on him._

_I'm not sure i like **that** idea!_

At that moment, the snare sprang about a squirrel. Alerted by its sudden rustles, Cutter leapt from behind the rock where he, Redmark, and Skywise had been hiding and, with a flick of his knife, dispatched it. Redmark and Nightfall having laughingly demurred on the offer of a sample of the squirrel, Cutter and Skywise scurried off with their catch. Once they had left, Redmark became aware of the troubled look on Nightfall's face. ‘Is something wrong?’, he asked solicitously.

‘Something's … missing, Redmark.’

That was all she said. Concern creasing his face, Redmark probed. ‘Something's missing. _What_ is missing?’

Nightfall gave her head a little shake. ‘I'm not sure. It's … it's nothing we can see … at least, i don't think it is.’

Unaccountably, she turned away. Whereas she was normally so willing to discuss anything, in particular any troubling problem, with Redmark, this time for a change — disturbed, perhaps, at the discovery of the extent of Redmark's tracking abilities — she felt unexpectedly reticent. He had a suspicion as to what might be troubling her, but, gazing after her as she wandered away, he found an irrelevant thought tugging at his mind.

_Puckernuts. Her voice is so **deep** , so … so **resonant! Not like a girl's. It echoes … deep within me.**_

Brownberry was ‘talking’ — gossiping, really — with Rillfisher and Clearbrook. And, being mothers, one of their favourite topics of conversation was children, their own and each other's.

_‡Cutter and Nightfall were out hunting last night — just the two of them‡_ , observed Rillfisher.

Intent on the proper, dispassionate weighing of issues that included the hijinks of a couple of teenagers, Clearbrook asked, _‡Did they catch anything?‡_

_‡Yes indeed‡_ , answered Brownberry; _‡they brought back several ravvits, and a few gophers as well.‡_

_‡They're always doing things together‡_ , Rillfisher continued to observe.

_‡They're always **doing things** together‡_ , Brownberry clarified; _‡they've been ‘doing things together’ since they were scrambling cubs.‡_

_‡They're always ‘doing things together’‡_ , Clearbrook commented; _‡do they ever ‘do’ anything else?‡_

Brownberry shook her head. _‡No. They're close friends — they've always been close friends — and they do the kinds of things that friends do.‡_

_‡Each one helps the other, back and forth, constantly‡/em >, Rillfisher remarked._

Brownberry smiled. _‡Sometimes they tease each other.‡_

_‡Yes indeed!‡_ agreed Rillfisher with a laugh.

_‡And again, it's mutual‡_ , observed Clearbrook. _‡Cutter teases Nightfall, Nightfall teases Cutter.‡_

_‡Yes, and she tells us all about it — every last detail‡_ , Brownberry commented. _‡She's **much** more reticent on the subject of Redmark.‡_

_‡Redmark, is it?‡_ asked Rillfisher. Clearbrook nodded, having apparently gotten confirmation of a long-growing suspicion.

_‡She spends a lot of time with Redmark, too‡_ , Brownberry expatiated. _‡But … lately … she almost never talks about it.‡_

Rillfisher chuckled. _‡You mean like it's **secret**?‡_

_‡No — not the way you mean‡_ , Brownberry clarified. _‡She doesn't clam up on the topic, as though it embarrasses her. Whenever the topic of what she's been doing with Redmark — any topic **at all** having to do with Redmark — comes up, she just sort of wanders away.‡_

_‡Like it's something she wants to be private with‡_ , suggested Clearbrook. _‡Moon over‡_ , Rillfisher further suggested.

Brownberry nodded. _‡Redmark is different from Cutter, and Nightfall's relationship with Redmark is going to be different from her relationship with Cutter. And apparently, Redmark touches something deep within her, something Cutter doesn't.‡_

This conversation was ‘lock-sent’; although Nightfall herself was only a few yards away from the older women, she was completely unaware of what they were ‘saying’ to each other. She had finally finished the knife she'd been working on for weeks; with a little bit of help from Moonshade, she'd fastened a leather hilt around the end she had not been chipping away at, and attached to it a strap as well. Now that she had finished _making_ the knife, her focus shifted to learning how it could best be _used_.

Which left her a lot more time to probe the ominous shadows of her growing dissatisfaction.

_Something is missing._

_Something is missing, and i need to find it!_

_Something i can change …?_

_Is that it? Is there something i need to do? Perhaps … it's something i need to find._

_But … what???_

A corner of her mind alerted Nightfall that the conversation between the older women had broken up, and that her mother was walking towards her. As Brownberry approached, Nightfall began to speak aloud. ‘Mother … there's something missing.’

Maternal concern washing across her face, Brownberry knelt down near her daughter. ‘Something missing, cub?’

‘Yes … something that i must find.’

‘ _What_ is missing?’

The knife danced up into the air and returned to the hand that had thrown it. ‘That's just it. I don't know. I just … have this feeling … that something's missing … and it's something that i have to find!’

‘You're a nameless cub —’

‘Who's sick and tired of having that pointed out!’ Nightfall petulantly remonstrated, tossing her knife into the sward.

‘Right; so, probably, what you should be hunting for is your name.’

Her name. For 15 Turns, she had been merely ‘Nightfall’. That was her ‘use-name’, her ‘tribe-name’, the name by which everyone else knew her — was _comfortable_ knowing her. But it wasn't her _real_ name, her ‘soul-name’. Unlike the tribe-name, nobody _gave_ you your soul-name; you had to find it … find it for yourself.

‘Should i … talk to Father about this?’ she wondered.

‘It would probably be a good idea’, Brownberry advised.

A few minutes later, in response to his lifemate's and his daughter's silent summons, Longbranch strolled over. When he had joined their small, intimate circle, Nightfall said, ‘Father, i think i must go hunting — for something that is not food!’

‘She needs to hunt for her name’, Brownberry clarificatorily offered.

Sitting down, Longbranch nodded slowly. ‘Your name …. In 15 Turns, you haven't found your name.’ Suddenly feeling inadequate at having lived so long as a ‘nameless cub’, Nightfall looked at him forlorn. ‘That very likely means that, in order to find it, you must go rather far away … into a completely different part of the forest.’

‘Do you mean it's not my _fault_ that i haven't found it yet?’ Nightfall inquired hopefully.

Longbranch's eyebrows twitched into a momentary scowl. ‘Certainly not! You've only very recently begun to feel pressure to know it.’

‘It's been content, so far, to be completely unknown’, Brownberry expanded. ‘It's only now wanting to become known, and so you now begin to really feel the need to know it.’

‘And therefore, you should remove yourself from familiar surroundings that might distract you, the better to focus your hunting into your own soul’, recommended Longbranch.

‘All right’, Nightfall nodded.

Although she had accepted the need, Nightfall wasn't ready to go yet. She wanted first to collect all the helpful advice she could, from those she trusted most — and that included not only her parents, but Redmark and Cutter as well. The next day, finding a chance for them to be reasonably private together, she approached Redmark and said, very quietly, ‘Redmark, i need … to go hunting … just by myself. I need to find … my name!’

As usual, she was standing remarkably close to Redmark. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind; he certainly didn't remark on it. Instead, he asked compassionately, ‘And, until you find it, you feel that you won't be whole?’

Nightfall nodded, her eyes focussed on Redmark's shoulder, hoping he could tell her what she needed to know, hoping he could help her find it.

The soul-name is the ultimate expression of a Wolfrider's personhood. The most intimate, as well; once you have found your soul-name, you share that knowledge — if at all — only with those you most trust.

But then … there's Recognition. Recognition — the whole concept of Recognition — is scary. In Recognition, knowledge of your soul-name is automatically given to someone without your intention or consent. Granted, at the same time you similarly get the knowledge of his soul-name, but still …. Your soul-name is the key that unlocks the most private, most intimate core of your personality; it is impossible to keep secrets from anyone who knows your soul-name.

And Nightfall — being Nightfall — had lots and lots of secrets. The thought of anyone else getting access to that trove — especially if she didn't deliberately grant that access — greatly frightened her.

And Redmark understood this. ‘Your soul-name is both the powerful curtain concealing your most intimate secrets, and the hand that brushes that curtain aside, revealing those secrets. Until you find your soul-name, you have no secure place to store your secrets.

‘Your name … isn't missing; it's always been there, has been there — deep in your soul — since before you were born.’ _She's usually so strong, so confident — exceptionally so, for such a young person. But this … in this one area, she feels so vulnerable._

_Which means, in this one area, i may for a change have an opportunity to protect her._ ‘But you don't know your name. That's what's missing, Nightfall: knowledge of your name — _your_ knowledge of _your_ name. In order to become whole, you need to find your name.’

Raising her eyes to his face, she whispered, ‘How?’

Redmark nodded judiciously. ‘You should probably take yourself away, as much as possible, from everything that's familiar; travel into a completely different part of the forest, one we've never visited — at least, never visited during the 15 Turns of your own life.’

‘Yes; Father recommended the same thing.’

‘Well, then, all the more reason to! _I_ think it would be a good idea; _Longbranch_ thinks it would be a good idea. If you like,’ Redmark offered with hesitant enthusiasm, ‘i could suggest some good places. And, once you get there, settle down; don't concentrate — don't _struggle_ — to find your name; just settle down, relax; as much as possible, close your mind to everything outside yourself. And wait; your name will eventually come bubbling to the surface.’

The following day, Cutter and Nightfall were kneeling at the river's edge, catching crayfish. With their fingers — a very delicate operation — which is a big reason why Skywise wasn't with them. Skywise talked vaguely about finding some way of catching crayfish without endangering one's fingers, but he hadn't yet done so, and he insisted that until he did he was quite willing to _eat_ crayfish, but not to try to catch them. Instead, he was off somewhere dallying with his lovemate Foxfur.

_‡You've already found your soul-name, haven't you, Cutter?‡_ , Nightfall asked.

_‡Oh yeah. Six or seven Turns ago.‡_

It took Nightfall a moment to swallow the envy she felt that Cutter should have known his soul-name since he was only a little more than half their current age, while she still did not know her own. _After all, Cutter's the Chief's son; he will be chief himself some day. It's reasonable that he should find his soul-name at an unusually early age._

_‡Can you … tell me about it? What was it like? Did you go somewhere special?‡_

_‡No. … It was dark … it was at night, and i was under the trees, and so there was almost no moonlight or starlight. … Only the smaller moon was out that night, and it was only a bit of a crescent, so there wasn't much moonlight anyway. And under the trees … the leaves, the branches were so thick that no starlight could get through._

_‡But then, in the distance, it seemed, a tiny light appeared. And i walked towards it. Eventually … i was close enough to see that it was above me, so i climbed a tree …. It was a light, the only light i could see, and i felt **very strongly** that i had to get as close to it as i could._

_‡So i climbed a tree … but the tree i climbed wasn't **exactly** under the light. … After a while, i found a branch that seemed to be headed right towards the light …. So i began walking along that branch._

_‡But the branch got narrower and narrower … well, they do, don't they? And just as i was able to reach my hand into the light, hovering there among the branches, i fell off!_

_‡My soul-name was **inside** that light — and i'd been able to reach it, just before falling off! I fell to the ground — but i had my soul-name!‡_

_He didn't go **looking** for his soul-name_ , considered Nightfall; _it **beckoned** him … just as mine is now beckoning me … at least, so Mother and Redmark suggest._

_‡A long way‡_ , growled Woodshaver.

_‡What, you're not tired, are you?‡_ Nightfall ruffled affectionately around her partner's ears.

_‡A long way from the Pack‡_ , the wolf offered in expansion.

_‡Only a little bit farter now‡_ , Nightfall reassured her. _That's if i understood Redmark's directions correctly_ , she commented privately to herself. She knew better than to even consider the possibility that Woodshaver might have interviewed Nightrunner or Firecoat, the way she herself had Cutter and Redmark. Even to their Elfin partners, but certainly to each other, wolves talked only about immediate things, never about events more than a day in the past, much less in the future.

Just before she set off, Longbranch had given Nightfall a small pouch full of dreamberries. Rather surprisingly, he only owned one such pouch; Nightfall understood that his loaning it to her on this occasion was an indication both of the importance of her quest and of the care he showed his daughter.

But the dreamberries in the pouch were not her only supply. In his final leave-taking as she set off, Redmark had told her about a particular bush that was unusually copious in its production at this time of year … and sure enough, there it was, just where Redmark had ‘sent’ her. As he had said, it was unusually large, and there seemed to be hundreds of the little blue-violet berries hanging amongst its branches. Nightfall sighed happily, confident that she could help herself liberally from the pouch her father had given her, and if she felt she needed more she could then help herself equally liberally from the bush, and still satisfactorily refill the pouch from the bush before returning home.

She found a nice, comfortable spot near the bush and sat down. _‡Thank you, Woodshaver‡_ , she sent, acknowledging the wolf's complaints about the distance she had made them travel from home. _‡I'm going to be rather busy now; keep an eye peeled for danger, OK? But go ahead and hunt if you like.‡_

Woodshaver looked skeptically at her. _‡Want me to bring you anything?‡_

Nighfall shook her head. _‡Not now. Maybe later.‡_ She was trying to take to heart another bit of advice she'd received from Redmark. ‘You shouldn't eat during the Quest. No, that's not exactly a “rule”’, Redmark had added quickly in response to the hint of surprise in Nightfall's eyes. ‘It's just not a good idea. You'll fare better on an empty stomach.’

Well, she was a Wolfrider; like all her kind, she could manage to go fairly comfortably for three or four days without food, if necessary. She had eaten well before setting out; she figured she could, once she'd found her soul-name, celebrate with another decent meal. In the meantime, she would fast.

Dreamberries, however, were a different matter. They weren't food; they were a visualization aid. As she mused, Nightfall took a few dreamberries from the pouch and ate them. Normally, the visions induced by the berries would have been guided, molded by a story told by Longbranch; under such circumstances, the berries would take whatever images rose in her mind in response to the story and amplify them, filling them out, making them more real. But this time, there was no ready-made story to provide a framework, and the berries instead latched onto the surrounding scenery as it captured Nightfall's attention, mixed those images with whatever else they found percolating up inside her mind, and began freely spinning from this heterogeneous input the dreams from which they got their name. As she watched the gossamer phantasms thus created, Nightfall continued to muse; every once in a while, she dipped into the pouch again. She sensed that somehow, the berries were helping her dig down deeper and deeper into her mind, and supposed that if she just kept quietly eating them, she would eventually reach her goal.

Hours passed. Nightfall had emptied the pouch her father had given her, and had started picking berries off the bush behind her. She drew from its sheath the bright-metal dagger that was one of her most prized possessions. Only Trolls knew how to make things out of bright-metal — and they guarded the knowledge jealously. Therefore, Troll-made instruments were much coveted by the Elves, and it had been one of the best, happiest days of her life when, in recognition of her skill, Bearclaw had gifted her with this dagger. She held it pensively by the hilt, bouncing it gently up and down in her hand, for a few minutes, then, turning it around, she repeated the action while holding it instead by the point.

Finally, she lay it down tenderly on the ground beside her, and drew forth, from its sheath, her other dagger. While, with its stone blade and wooden hilt, it was not as fine as the first, Nightfall was very proud of it. She realized at this moment that she couldn't honestly say which of these two was dearer to her, the immeasurably precious bright-metal dagger made by the Trolls or the stone knife made by her own hands.

She hefted the stone dagger in the same way she had, a couple of minutes earlier, hefted the bright-metal one. The feel was definitely very different, and she savoured the difference. The bright-metal dagger was smoother, sharper, springier, yet heavier than the stone one, which felt almost airy by comparison. Nightfall had already learned that she could throw the stone knife farther, yet the bright-metal one flew truer; she was more certain of its hitting its goal.

Holding the stone dagger in one hand, she took up again the bright-metal knife in the other. She gazed at both of them for a moment, then, slowly rising to her feet, she tossed one of them into the air. She caught it; she tossed the other, catching it as it fell back. She tossed one, then, as soon as it was airborne, she tossed the other; she caught them both — in the hands opposite to those that had held them a moment earlier. To her dreamberry-misted mind, both knives seemed to glitter strangely as they flew up and down, the one with the electric blue-white of skyfire, the other with multicoloured crystals embedded in the stone from which it was crafted.

One foot stepping past the other, Nightfall danced sideways. Suddenly, she whipped herself about, catching a dagger that would have fallen behind her. Pirouetting on one foot, she twirled endlessly in the midst of the glen. Sometimes she tossed only one knife; other times, she juggled both. Under the influence of all the dreamberries she'd eaten, her mind saw them moving quite slowly, floating up from her hands, tumbling leisurely in mid-air over her head, eventually drifting like leaves downward again; in order to compensate, she kept trying to speed up her own movements.

For nearly an hour she danced about the glen, tossing, catching, juggling the two knives. Eventually, she was moving a little bit faster than any Human could possibly have managed — and, panting, she was at the limit of her own speed. Anybody else would have heard only the quick swish of her feet on the grass, the occasional nick of the knives as they flew from and to her hands, and her constant panting. She heard all this too, but gradually she became aware of another sound as well, one only she could hear — a sound from inside her brain, a syllable that had always been hiding there, since before she was born, but now was beating down the walls, trying to leap into self-awareness.

_Twen._

It had always been there, though she hadn't known it. But now, she did. And, knowing this, Nightfall knew herself; for herself was Twen. Everything she was, everything she had ever been, everything she hoped someday to be, somehow was wrapped up comfortably in that single syllable. Catching the two daggers one last time, Nightfall/Twen collapsed on the sward, laying them next to her on the grass.

_It's mine … it's me, the very core of my personhood_ , she mused, as she lay exhausted, on the great discovery that she had made.

_It's mine … my own … my secret._

_Nobody else knows it …. Nobody else can know it, unless i tell them. Even my parents …._

_Shall i tell them?_

_One usually does tell one's parents one's soul-name, after one has found it. They may be **expecting** it. Not to tell them suggests a … a lack of trust._

_Still … i'd have to choose my time. I'd have to choose a moment when i can tell them — each of them — in utmost intimacy, so that the … the soul-name … the knowledge of the soul-name … is being given to only that one person. I should probably ‘send’ it — **lock** -send — not ‘tell’ it._

_Then … there's Recognition … where the knowledge is **taken** from you — not taken **away** , just **given** to some other person without your consent … and, at the same time, you learn — the same way — what **his** soul-name is._

_That's … that's a little scary! … Unless …_

_Unless … yeah …. I wouldn't mind … unless it were Redmark … i guess i wouldn't mind Redmark … finding out my soul-name … if i could know his in return._

_If he can find it out. … I won't **tell** him … that would ruin it … that would be just a … just a phony shadow … of the Real Thing. Recognition … yeah … Recognition wouldn't be all that scary … **if** it's with Redmark._

Looking down at Nightfall with concern, a furry head appeared; in her mouth was a dead quail.

_‡Thank you, Woodshaver!‡_ Nightfall gratefully sent, reaching out a trembling hand to grasp the gift.

_‡You're hungry! Food is good!‡_ , the wolf replied.

_‡Indeed it is — especially right now!‡_ acknowledged Nightfall, suddenly very much aware of the vociferous protests of her stomach. _‡Oh! I could almost eat this feathers and all, i'm so hungry!‡_ , she laughed, struggling to rip off enough feathers to get at least a mouthful of meat down her throat.

For the next several minutes, the only sounds in the glen were those of Nightfall furiously fledging the quail and devouring it. Afterwards, she crawled on all fours to the nearby stream, drank copiously, and washed her face, hands, and arms. Finally, she collapsed on her side on the bank.

_‡Ready to go home now?‡_ asked Woodshaver hopefully.

For just a moment, Nightfall managed to establish eye-contact with her partner. _‡Soon; soon‡_ , she reassured her. _‡But first, i **really need** to rest. Come; lie down. You've been busy too, haven't you? Let's take a nap together, and then we'll go home.‡_

Dusk had shot the sky with vermillion and clothed the maple trees in gold by the time they returned to the Holt. This region of the forest would always seem quiet to Humans, but it was quieter than usual this evening; even the much more sensitive ears of the Wolfrider couldn't hear much; Nightfall wondered a bit at this.

When she appeared at the entrance to their bole, Longbranch enfolded his daughter in his arms. ‘Tanner's skins, Father!’, she cried, ‘i've been gone only three days! You act like i've been missing for months!’

‘Doesn't matter!’, exulted Longbranch. ‘You're home! You're safe!’

‘Of course i'm safe, Father! I was away deep in the forest — Woodshaver and i had gone away from the Humans' village — and i had Woodshaver with me. Oh, that reminds me.’ She handed him back the pouch of dreamberries he'd given her a few days earlier.

‘It … it's full’ exclaimed Longbranch perplexed.

‘Yes it is. But not with the same dreamberries that you gave me. I ate all of those — and more. Redmark had told me of a particularly bountiful bush a few hours east-southeast of here, and that's where we went, and the bush was just as he described it! So, i refilled the pouch before we came back.’

Hesitantly, Brownberry inquired, ‘Were you … successful?’

‘Yes i was!’ answered Nightfall eagerly. ‘Come.’ She sat on the floor, laying her hands palm-up on her knees by way of invitation to her parents to join her. As they sat on either side of her, she took hold of one hand of each; they, likewise, held each other's hand. It took a moment for Nightfall to focus her mind down so narrowly that she could perceive nothing but the minds of her two parents. When she was finally sure of the lock-send, that Longbranch and Brownberry alone could ‘hear’ what she was about to ‘say’, she opened up her own mind and, for a brief moment, allowed them to ‘see’ all the way into its depths.

_‡Twen. I am Twen.‡_

_‡Twen‡_ , breathed Longbranch.

_‡Twen‡_ , Brownberry sighed. _‡Yes. Twen you are. Twen you have always been, Twen you will always be.‡_ Releasing hands as the lock-send ended, all three of them hugged each other tightly. Tears trickled from between closed eyelids.

‘One life is lost; but, meanwhile, another is enriched’, Longbranch observed.

Brownberry heaved a great sigh. ‘Life itself goes on!’

Hearing the melancholy in her parents' voices, Nightfall wondered aloud, ‘What do you mean, “one life is lost”? Mother — Father — the Holt is so quiet! Who —?’

Brownberry bowed her head, a hand over her face. ‘Rillfisher … Rillfisher was killed yesterday’, she whispered.

‘ _Rillfisher KILLED??_ ’ cried Nightfall. _High Ones … Dewshine! … Treestump!_ ‘How …?’

‘It was an accident’, explained Longbranch, lest his daughter imagine the worst — that Rillfisher had been caught by Humans. ‘She was fishing by the stream, near that old, half-dead beech there, and a big branch came down on top of her and … and killed her.’

Issuing from the bole, Nightfall wandered toward the river. She didn't _know_ exactly where she was going; but, on the basis of what her father had said, she guessed where Rillfisher had died. And her feet followed that guess, uncertainly but nevertheless unerringly, to the place where, a few months earlier, the tribe had relaxed on a lovely late-spring afternoon.

And when she got there, as she had half-hoped and -expected, she found Redmark, huddled against the truck of the dying beech tree. As she mused over the fact — the anticipated fact — of his presence, she bethought herself of something he had said earlier, about the plants telling him of her presence.

_Wonder if i can get to him without his knowing, if i don’t touch any plants at all … Maybe if i can leap from stone to stone, all the way from here to there …?_

If she couldn't hear him breathing, if as she drew near she couldn't feel the warmth of his body, she might have imagined that he was just as dead as the tree. But as she began to kneel down beside his shoulder, he lifted and turned his head and focussed on her.

_‡Nightfall! You're back!‡_ A hint of interest momentarily, minimally lifted his spirits. _‡Were you —?‡_

_‡Yes! Yes! I know my name now!‡_ Shifting his body slightly, Nightfall managed to slither into the space between him and the dead tree. Gathering him to her, she nestled his head between her breasts, which during the past year had blossomed with plenty of sweet promise, and began caressing his fiery-red hair. The better to soothe him, she untied her halter. His face now lay cradled upon the utter smoothness of her naked chest.

With a vague suspicion that ‘talking’ about the tragedy would help him deal with it, she encouraged him. _‡Redmark, tell me what happened!‡_

Twisting in distress, Redmark answered, _‡There's not much to tell. It … it happened yesterday; i … wasn't around. Rillfisher was down — down there.‡_ He pointed at a spot along the riverbank, a few feet away, where a large bend brought the river around the area where the Wolfriders so liked to relax, creating in the process several eddy-pools and, incidentally, natural traps for fish. _‡There were — i think there were chub in the river; she'd brought home several chub in the past few days.‡_ Turning his face back against her breast, he shut his eyes again against remembered pain. _‡She was — kneeling there, at the river's edge, and a branch‡_ — turning again, he looked up and pointed to where a hefty stump struck forth from the dead tree — _‡a branch broke off and — and fell on her!‡_

Gazing up at the stump Redmark indicated, Nightfall considered that such a hefty branch must surely have made quite a bit of noise as it broke. But of course Rillfisher wouldn't have been able to hear any such noise. And if she were kneeling right under it … alone … she would have had no way of escaping, no way of knowing she needed to escape.

_‡I knew the tree was dying, Nightfall. I couldn't stop it‡_ , Redmark groaned.

_‡Redmark, we all — including Rillfisher — knew it was dying! It's not your fault she chose to hunt right here!‡_

Redmark subsided with a groan. After a little while, he managed to twist his head around until his lips finally found the skin of Nightfall's bare breast, and latched onto her nipple. A thrill of extra tenderness lanced through Nightfall as he did so. She continued to caress the flaming-red head resting on her breast, glad to know she had been able to turn Redmark's thoughts in a more positive direction, hoping that he wasn't merely turning to her as a default nurse-of-the-moment.

_Redmark wants so much to be a Tree-Shaper. Everybody **expects** him to be a Tree-Shaper. That kind of magic skips generations — and Redmark's granddam was a Tree-Shaper, as was her granddam before her._

_Everybody expects Redmark to be a Tree-Shaper. And most people — most of the adults, anyway — are exasperated that he isn't — yet. Redmark himself is exasperated._

_But … he's quite young yet! He's only … an eight of eights of Turns older than me … well, a bit older than that. Plenty of time for his powers to manifest._

_He mustn't get disheartened._

_I won't allow him to get disheartened! I must remind him — encourage him — as often as necessary. And i must protect him from the others' snide comments about his transient, apparent failure._ Nightfall had been cradling Redmark tenderly, gently; now, as a possessive fire flared through her, she clutched him more tightly. _I managed to find my soul-name, by Goodtree's rest; and Redmark **will** eventually come into his powers._

_I will defend you, Redmark; this'll be my return for all that you've given me during recent Turns._


End file.
